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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25465369">Books for Bread</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/maria_mi_vida/pseuds/maria_mi_vida'>maria_mi_vida</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Smut, Trauma, kind of a bookshop/bakery AU?</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 10:53:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,746</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25465369</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/maria_mi_vida/pseuds/maria_mi_vida</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After having partaken in a diamond robbery, Martín Berrote goes into hiding and opens up a bookstore in the French countryside. This might seem like a simple life, if it weren't for his inconvenient crush on his hiding partner, Mirko Dragic. Mirko, who spends his hiding in a bakery on the other side of the street, obviously likes Martín back. Years of emotional trauma make it almost impossible for Martín to accept his love. Mirko, however, isn't one to give up easily.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Helsinki | Mirko Dragic/Palermo | Martín Berrote</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. A Gift</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I've made a playlist of the songs I was listening to while writing this fic! You can listen to it <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6KEiMj1WRN8uLNBjk9uoSp?si=mmGVXlWEQXmUBZIA7zO6dQ">here.</a></p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The rain drizzled down on the houses of the small town. This wasn’t exactly the weather you’d think of when you heard ‘Southern France’. Martín lifted the last box out of the van that was parked in front of his newly opened bookstore. Inside, about a dozen more boxes were piled up against the walls. All of them contained books, most of them second-hand ones. In the days prior, Martín had built shelves and a table to display the books on. The store wasn’t big, just like the town he was told to move to. He <em>had </em>to move to Southern France, yes, because he had to go into hiding. It had never been Martín’s dream to open a bookstore; he considered himself to be too smart to own a simple business. He was an engineer, born in the buzzing Buenos Aires, Argentina. On an impulse, he had travelled to Italy once to attend a convention on engineering and architecture. There, he had met two brothers that almost seemed to embody the two subjects of the convention; technology and art. The youngest of the two was a socially awkward but highly intelligent nerd. It was the oldest brother that had immediately caught Martín’s attention, however. He was immaculately groomed and moved gracefully like a dancer. Martín never really thought he had a type when it came to romantic interests, until he met him: Andrés. To Martín’s surprise, Andrés had invited him out for drinks. It was that the younger brother, Sergio, was coming too, otherwise Martín would have definitely thought of it as date. Later that night, Andrés had revealed to Martín that he and his <em>hermanito </em>where looking to hire an engineer. It could have been any kind of job opportunity, but by the way Andrés described it Martín instinctively knew that this wasn’t the kind of job you would proudly present on your CV. The opportunity sounded promising, and having a history in petty crime already, Martín had accepted their offer. Or at least, those were some of the incentives that made him accept. From the moment they had locked eyes, Martín longed to learn more about Andrés, to be close to him. If he’d only known they would never be close in the way he wanted so badly.</p><p>Martín looked up at the grey sky. Him having to go into hiding was a direct result of accepting the offer Andrés had presented him with. It was a robbery, unlike any seen before. In one night, their team had stolen millions worth of diamonds from a vault in Paris. The break-in had taken months to prepare. They had made many enemies along the way, but the head of security, Gandía, had proved to be the biggest pain in the ass. The robbery had made everyone involved filthy rich, but Andrés was never there to see the results. He had perhaps found the best hiding spot of all: deep underground, under a marble tombstone. Martín didn’t believe in the afterlife, but if he did, he would probably have imagined the police and secret services hunting down Andrés in hell.</p><p>In preparation for the robbery, Sergio had assigned every member of the team a partner and a location. The partners were supposed to move to that exact location and keep a low profile. They weren’t supposed to talk to each other much, as to avoid suspicion from the local villagers. They just had to keep an eye out for each other. Martín’s partner had arrived in the French village a few weeks before him. His name was Mirko, if he remembered correctly. They didn’t really know each other: Mirko had joined the gang much later and they hadn’t talked very often. When Martín learned that Mirko was gay, he had jokingly thrown some flirty remarks at him, but things had never gotten any further than that.</p><p>When Martín had put the last box in the store and the van had taken off, he stepped outside to smoke a cigarette. The little overhang over the door protected him from the drizzle. The bookstore was located on the corner of the street, which sloped downwards away from the store. Blowing out smoke, Martín looked down the road and spotted another store on the street-corner all the way down. ‘<em>Boulangerie</em>’, it said on the sign above the entrance. <em>That must be where Mirko is</em>, Martín thought. Sergio had presented him with a choice between hiding in a bookstore or hiding in a bakery, and since Martín had chosen the former, he knew Mirko would be spending his hiding baking bread. His stomach growled as if it knew what he was thinking, and Martín realised that he had no food in his home. Best to stop by the <em>boulangerie</em>, then. <em>It also can’t hurt to let Mirko know I’ve arrived</em>, he thought when he threw his cigarette bud on the ground.</p><p>The bell above the door jingled. Mirko looked up in surprise. In the few weeks he had spent in the small French town, he learned that almost all costumers would buy their baked goods in the morning. Hardly anyone visited the bakery during the afternoon. Mirko walked away from the oven into the front part of the store and was greeted by a pair of Argentinian eyes which he could never tell the colour of. They often seemed to be a mix between green and grey, but in certain lightning, they looked bright blue. Although they had never really spent time with just the two of them, Mirko had found himself physically attracted to Martín from the beginning. During the robbery, however, he had realised that there was much more to Martín than the façade he put up. A lot of pain, Mirko suspected. Martín looked sad when he thought no one could see him. “<em>Bonjour</em>,” Mirko greeted Martín in perfect French. “What can I help you with?” Martín looked startled. Maybe he hadn’t expected Mirko to learn French in such a short amount of time. Mirko had always been quite good at languages, however. He had moved around a lot and in his experience, it was much easier to blend in if you spoke a country’s native tongue. “I’d like some bread, please,” Martín answered in French with a thick Argentinian accent. “Of course,” Mirko replied. “New in town?” “Yes, I am,” Martín switched to Spanish. “So please speak in a language that makes sense.” Mirko winced unnoticeably at Martín’s tone of voice. He remembered that apart from his sexual advances, Martín had never been very nice to him. Maybe this was some sort of defence mechanism, preventing anyone from getting close. Out of all the gang members that were still alive, though, Martín must have liked Mirko the best. Otherwise he would’ve never gone into hiding with him. “<em>Cómo estás?</em>” Mirko asked.</p><p>“No complaints. How’s business?”</p><p>“No complaints either.” Mirko shoved a small strawberry tart into the brown paper bag he had put the bread in. “<em>Un regalo para ti</em>,” he replied to Martín’s unspoken remark.</p><p>“<em>Gracias</em>,” Martín replied as he took the bag and walked out of the bakery.</p><p>Mirko woke up very early the next day. It had become part of his new routine as a baker. He quite liked the repetitiveness of the life he was living now. When he opened up the shop, he mused about what kind of person he could have been if he’d grown up in the village he was hiding in now. When he unlocked the front door, he noticed a small bag hanging on the outside handle. The bell jingled when he opened the door to take the bag. Inside, there was a book. The red hardcover had the title and writer printed on the front in small black letters. There was no note attached. Mirko opened up the book. <em>Un regalo para ti – Martín</em>, it said on the first page, written in ink. Tracing the letters with his index finger, Mirko smiled slightly. The robbery had made them both so rich that money had no real value to them anymore. They traded books for bread now, apparently. Mirko decided that tomorrow, he would leave some freshly baked bread in front of Martín’s store as a thank you.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Animal Training</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The exchange of gifts continued for a while. They didn’t do it every day, because they both knew the other would otherwise be drowning in either food or words (both men also didn’t want to come off as needy). Mirko would alternate between bread and pies, which became increasingly more delicate and tasty. Martín, on his part, started annotating the books he gifted Mirko. Intelligent remarks filled the margins of the pages. Sometimes they were sarcastic jokes, sometimes they were sly comments from which Mirko could conclude nothing else than that Martín was offering him a blowjob. How else could he interpret the book about bears in which Martín had written: “I’m very good at training animals, especially big ones. Want me to show you?” So, on one afternoon, Mirko decided to walk to the bookshop to personally deliver a raspberry pie and see what this animal training business was all about.</p>
<p>The record player in a corner of the bookstore softly played some music. Martín had more or less expected (hoped?) that Mirko would show up on his doorstep. Therefore, he wasn’t surprised to see him walk into his store that afternoon. “I baked you something again,” Mirko began. “And I was afraid that if I put it outside, the weather would ruin it.” Which, Martín knew, was just another way of saying: “I understood what you wrote and I’m horny right now.” Gracefully, Martín took the pie from Mirko’s hands. His hands were surprisingly elegant for someone as buff as him. Martín briefly imagined those hands handling something else than pastry dough before shaking the thought. “Please follow me into the back room, I have something for you as well.” Knowing that Mirko would follow him, he walked into the storage space. Martín put down the pie and turned around, trapping Mirko between himself and the door, which fell shut. “You wrote you were good at training large animals?” Mirko said, grinning. “I am,” Martín replied, now standing very close to Mirko and putting his hands on Mirko’s waist. “Here, I’ll show you.” And with that, he began to undo Mirko’s belt. Mirko exhaled and leaned back against the door.</p>
<p>For a moment, the only sounds to be heard were the muffled music that was playing in the store and the heavy breathing of two men. The semi-silence was broken when Mirko gasped. Martín had taken his cock out of his pants and started stroking it gently. When the strokes started becoming faster, Mirko threw back his head and let out a moan. “Told you I’m good,” Martín hummed and got down on his knees. Steadying himself with his left hand on Mirko’s hips, his right wrapped around the beginning of Mirko’s length. Before he opened his mouth, Martín licked his lips in such a way that could get Mirko hard by the sheer sight alone. Martín started sucking at the tip of Mirko’s dick and felt a hand on his head, gently nudging him to take it in deeper. Martín took him in as deep as he could, up to the point where he couldn’t breathe anymore. He always liked this part, the part where the other party felt pleasure and he felt pain. It hadn’t always been like that for him. Those feelings had only started after Andrés… but he tried not to think about that. Instead, he took Mirko into his mouth once more, deeper, faster, only stopping briefly to catch his breath. Then, when Mirko’s moaning became so loud that Martín knew he was going to come soon, he stopped. “What’s wrong?” Mirko asked, looking into Martín’s eyes and gently wiping some of his pre-cum from Martín’s mouth. Martín was taken aback; he was expecting (hoping?) to draw some sort of irritated or angry reaction from Mirko, but this was the complete opposite. He’d done this thing to some of his one-night stands, but all of them had become annoyed and some had even forced Martín to go on. Mirko, on the other hand, acted as if he himself had done something which had caused Martín to stop. Martín gathered his thoughts and tried to smile. “Oh, nothing, I just wanted to ask if you’ve been satisfied with the training thus far.”</p>
<p>“Very much so. Can’t wait to see the results.”</p>
<p>And with that, Martín dug his fingers into Mirko’s ass and took him deep into his mouth, which made Mirko come so hard that the writers of all the old second-hand books turned in their graves.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Defence Mechanism</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After that one afternoon things went quiet for a while. However, there was an undeniable tension in the air. Every time Martín went out to smoke around lunchtime, he could see Mirko doing the same on the other end of the street. They were too far from each other to actually make eye contact, but Martín knew Mirko was looking at him as well. On the days the clouds didn’t show their faces, Mirko’s side of the street would be coated in sunlight. Once, Martín had a vision of Mirko closing his eyes, breathing out smoke, his skin glowing gold in the sunlight. He looked serene, like an early summer morning. Martín immediately cut off the daydream. What he and Mirko had was just purely physical, he told himself. <em>Boom boom ciao</em>.</p><p>Mirko looked at Martín, who was standing in the shadows in front of his bookshop. Martín had once explained his vision homosexual sex when they were having dinner with the gang. At that time, Mirko had been inclined to believe that was how homosexual sex worked. Gay men just needed to blow off some steam from time to time. On one drunken night in the French countryside, before Martín had arrived, Mirko had tried to explain <em>boom boom ciao </em>to one of the villagers. Her name was Ágata; she ran the local bank here. Mirko was pretty sure she was involved in money laundering of some kind, and he suspected Ágata knew that he wasn’t just an ordinary man seeking the tranquillity of the countryside. This mutual unspoken understanding had built some form of trust between the two, and they had become good friends in the few weeks that Mirko had lived in the village. Ágata wouldn’t have any of the <em>boom boom ciao</em>-nonsense, however. “That’s not how you work, <em>mon amour</em>,” she told Mirko. “If you could, you would hold someone the whole night and make them breakfast in bed the morning after.” Mirko realised she was right. The few casual sexual encounters he had partaken in had never left him fully satisfied. His large muscular appearance was deceiving; he was a sensitive human being. Apart from physical intimacy, he craved emotional closeness as well. The fact that he was starting to fall in love with the most emotionally inaccessible man on God’s green earth didn’t make things easy for him.</p><p>Although Ágata would probably tell him to pay as little attention to Martín as possible, Mirko found himself making a cake in the shape of a bear’s head one day. His ratio told him that continuing the contact with Martín could only end up hurting his feelings, but his gut feeling told him something else. He felt that Martín’s cocky behaviour, the <em>boom boom ciao </em>bullshit, the sneering remarks directed at him, were only walls Martín had built to prevent anyone from hurting him. Hurting him again. Mirko hadn’t interacted much with Andrés before he died, but he had seen how Martín’s behaviour changed when he was around him. Something had happened between them which had caused Martín to grow bitter. From experience Mirko knew that not talking only lead to more pain and self-hatred. He had lost enough friends and family-members to know what bottled up grief did to someone. When he’d come out as gay to his inner circle, for example, Mirko had been disowned by his family. The few people from his inner circle that had accepted him he couldn’t speak to anymore, because they had gone missing, or were in prison, or had been murdered. His past had caused Mirko a great deal of pain, but he refused to let his grief take the upper hand. It was the only way he could survive.</p><p>After receiving no gifts from Mirko for some time, Martín found a cake on his doorstep which clearly depicted a bear’s head. There was no note, and in all honesty, an explanation would have been totally unnecessary. He knew what this meant, so that night, the doorbell of the bakery jingled once more. Mirko led him through the shop to his garden. It was quite small, but it had a beautiful view over the valley. The sun was going down behind the mountains and lit the numerous flowers and other plants in the garden in a warm, orange light. Mirko gestured towards a table accompanied by two chairs. Not as much for the light as for a romantic atmosphere, a burning candle stood on the table, next to a bottle of wine. They sat down and Mirko poured them both a glass. “<em>Salud!</em>” Mirko held up his glass. “<em>Santé!</em>” Martín replied and clinked his glass against Mirko’s. Mirko raised his eyebrows slightly. “You’ve picked up some French?” Martín gave him a smug look. “I have to do something when I’m not busy with animal training, you see.”</p><p>The chit-chat and the wine were merely a formality in Martín’s eyes, a harbinger of what the night would bring. When they had emptied the bottle and the sun had gone down, he remarked that he was getting rather cold. “We better go inside, then,” Mirko said and blew out the candle.</p><p>His bedroom was far cosier than Martín’s; for one, it wasn’t cluttered with all kinds of technical drawings. That was not to say that Mirko was a great interior designer, but there was a kind of intimate atmosphere that inhabited the room. A warm breeze, a remainder of the hot day that had preceded the night, blew through the window. The air wrapped around the bodies of the two men, who started to become increasingly more naked as they undressed each other. Maybe it was the wine, but there was something about this night that made it different from the time Martín had given Mirko a blowjob in his storage room. It unconsciously put Martín on edge, and he tensed up a bit when he sat down on the bed on hands and knees, his back towards Mirko. He heard Mirko take out a bottle of lube from somewhere and put the liquid on his fingers. “Are you comfortable?” Mirko asked and breathed hot into Martín’s neck. Although he wasn’t, Martín nodded. He felt Mirko’s strong hands glide over his back, a warm index finger press into his opening. He let out a soft moan. Two fingers now, Mirko carefully worked him open, making sure he didn’t hurt him. And that’s when something clicked in Martín’s brain. Mirko wasn’t going to fuck him hard, not in the way Martín wanted. “I’m ready, just get on with it,” he told Mirko in an attempt to stop him being so careful. “Are you sure?” Mirko tried to lock eyes with Martín, who wouldn’t let him. “Of course,” he snapped. “Alright,” Mirko gave in. “Just tell me if you need me to stop.” Martín felt Mirko’s hardened cock press against his ass, slowly pushing in. It burned. Martín let out a moan which floated somewhere between pleasure and pain. “More,” he demanded. Mirko hesitated for a second, but then pushed his full length in. Martín could feel his knees giving in. It was too much for him. Mirko was big and Martín knew he the foreplay hadn’t at all been sufficient to make it painless. Which was just how he wanted it. He moaned hard and pushed back, taking in as much of Mirko as he could.</p><p>Although Mirko was definitely aroused when they’d started fucking, he became increasingly more uncomfortable as they went on. Something was not right. He could tell he was hurting Martín, but the smaller man didn’t seem to make any attempts to stop. On the contrary, it was as if he wanted Mirko to hurt him on purpose. He moved back and forth, tight around Mirko’s cock. Their movements started to speed up as Martín let out a moan which send shivers down Mirko’s spine. It wasn’t a moan as much as it was a painful cry. Martín didn’t <em>enjoy </em>sex; for him it was some wicked kind of self-harm. But that was not something Mirko wanted, not for himself, and definitely not form Martín. Carefully, Mirko stopped fucking Martín and pulled out. Martín spun around and snapped. “What’s wrong with you? Fuck me like a man, Mirko!” Mirko could practically see Martín’s walls he’d carefully started to try to break down build up again. Martín eyed Mirko up and down, expecting him to do something. “Hm? Or are you out of breath already, fatty?” They locked eyes. “Martín…” Mirko began, but Martín didn’t bother to listen and stood up from the bed, putting on his pants. “Martín, I was hurting you.” If Martín was irritated before, he was right out furious now. “I told you I was okay! Don’t be so goddamn gentle all the time!” Angrily, he buttoned the last few buttons of his shirt and stepped into his shoes. “I know you like me, love me even, but behave yourself. This,” he gestured into the space between them, “has nothing to do with love. I don’t love anyone.” Not even yourself, Mirko thought, as Martín stormed out of his bedroom.</p><p>The night sky was filled with clouds, leaving the street pitch black. Martín hated himself most of the time, but tonight, it was too much to bear. He stamped quickly up the cobblestone road, towards his house. There was so much tension in his tread that it almost seemed as if he was trying to crush the stones under his feet. As he got further away from Mirko and closer to his kitchen filled with booze, desperation started to creep up in Martín’s mind. What had he done? The one person that had been kind to him, that seemed to pierce through his asshole attitude and <em>boom boom ciao </em>bullshit, had given him a chance. But he had fucked it up. Just as he fucked up his relationship with Andrés, a connection that had gone so much deeper that friendship.</p><p>After spending months together working on the robbery, Martín had finally admitted his feelings and kissed Andrés. And with that he had pushed his soulmate away. They had a special connection, Andrés admitted, but he didn’t love Martín in the way Martín loved him. “Sometimes distance is the only way to heal,” Andrés had told him when he left the room. During the robbery Martín had contacted the base. He hadn’t seen Andrés for a few days, but he knew he would be there to pick up the phone. To his surprise, however it was Sergio who picked up. Martín had already braced himself, just to hear Andrés’ voice one last time before he went into hiding and would never see him again. But instead, he was now listening to his <em>hermanito</em>. Martín was barely conscious as he tried to grapple what Sergio was explaining to him. The thing he’d feared so much but never allowed himself to think about had happened. Andrés had been murdered by Gandía, who had constantly been a few steps behind them and was now closing in. Martín was in a state of shock when he moved the diamonds out of the safe. Andrés, his soulmate with whom he’d been so deeply in love with, was gone. And he didn’t even have the chance to say goodbye.</p><p>As the clouds started to pack together in the French night sky and raindrops started to fall down, tears began to stream down Martín’s face. After his soulmate had left him, he couldn’t love anymore. He’d used it all up on Andrés, he believed. Now that Mirko had tried to give him love, something so foreign to Martín, he had gotten scared and pushed it away. He didn’t deserve it, and it was best for Mirko to leave him alone to rot in the dark.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Keep your enemies far away...</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A couple of days had gone by. Mirko had resumed his baking, but everything he made seemed just a little bit off. The bread wasn’t as crispy as before and the glazing on the pies shone less than it used to. He and Martín still smoked outside on the same time every day. Mirko saw how Martín’s posture had changed. His shoulders and head hung downwards, and he avoided the sun as much as possible. He looked tiny and fragile. All Mirko wanted to do was walk up the street, to the bookshop, and hold Martín in his big arms. Why couldn’t the small Argentinian man accept how much Mirko cared for him? Mirko let out a depressed sigh. After a long time, he had found the courage to be vulnerable, to express a kind of romantic love he hadn’t felt in a long while, and it had backfired. Martín had hurt him, but Mirko couldn’t bring himself to be angry. He understood that Martín wasn’t really angry at him, but at himself. He rejected any form of love that was offered to him. It was the same defence mechanism Mirko had employed when he was younger. He had served time in the army as well as time in prison, and in both placed it had proved to be equally as hard to find people who were accepting of his identity. On the rare occasion he’d found anyone he could share himself with, he’d been filled with joy, but those connections had never lasted long. And things started to go in the same direction with Martín. However, Mirko wasn’t ready to give up just yet. As long as they were still living in the same street, he was willing to give Martín another chance.</p><p>As Mirko put out his cigarette and went back into the bakery, his landline phone started to ring. Mirko picked up and was greeted by Ágata’s voice, who sounded panicked and out of breath. “Mirko,” she began, “you have to get out of there.” Mirko was confused; Ágata had gone to the big city to run some errands that morning, which was a two-hour drive from their town. “When I was just out of town a car passed me by. I don’t know what it was, the car itself or the man who was driving it, but I’ve got a bad feeling about this. When I got to the city, I tried to run his licence plate, but I couldn’t find any information. There was something in the eyes of that man, Mirko. He wasn’t a tourist; he had the eyes of an assassin.” She paused for a moment. “Listen, I know we haven’t exactly talked about our pasts, or how we currently make our money, but…” If they’d physically been together Mirko would’ve just nodded in understanding, but since they were on the phone, he said “I know. Thank you for warning me.” “Take care, <em>mon amour</em>.” They hung up. Then, as quickly as possible, Mirko went into the bakery’s kitchen. He knew exactly who the man in that car was. Somehow, Gandía had figured out their hiding spot and was now on his way to take care of something he’d wished to do much earlier. It was, however, too late to flee. If Ágata had seen Gandía on her way to the city and she was in there right now, the assassin could storm in here at any given moment. Mirko slid open the drawer of his closet and pulled out a gun. With the weapon in his hand, he walked back to the front of the store. When he stepped outside, Mirko hid the gun under his shirt and belt and quickly walked up the street, towards the bookstore.</p><p>The door of the bookstore didn’t have a jingle. The floorboards where creaky, Mirko discovered as he set foot inside. There was no one there. “Martín?” Mirko called. No answer, but he heard someone shuffle in the back room. Martín probably didn’t want to talk to Mirko. Mirko walked to the back room, the wooden floor creaking under his feet with every step he did. “Martín?” Mirko opened the door. “I’m not here to talk, just to warn you.” “You shouldn’t have.” That wasn’t Martín. Instead, Mirko stood face to face with another man, a lean but muscular guy who’s face showed rat-like features. The assassin Ágata had warned him about: Gandía.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. ...and your loved ones all the closer</h2></a>
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    <p>It was the first time in days Martín had left his house for something else than a cigarette. He had been out of food for two days now, and more importantly, out of alcohol. Reluctantly, he’d quickly done some groceries, careful to avoid the bakery. Holding a plastic bag with two hands, Martín pushed open the front door of the bookstore with his foot. What greeted him was not the usual silence which could be deafening at times. From the back room, he could hear a loud crash and a smothered yell. The plastic back fell to the floor. Something was terribly wrong. Martín rushed into the back room. There were splatters of blood all over the floor. In the middle of it laid Mirko, with a Gandía on top of him. Gandía had his hands around Mirko’s throath, strangling him. There was no time to hesitate. Martín wasn’t consciously thinking when he picked up a gun from the floor that apparently had fallen in the fight. Gandía noticed Martín and was about to lunge himself at him when the room was filled with a loud bang. A bullet had gone through the Gandía’s skull, right between his eyes. He was dead before he hit the ground. A pool of blood started to form around his head which Martín didn’t even see when he rushed towards Mirko. “Mirko?!” Mirko gasped for air and held his side with his hands. Martín looked down and saw blood gushing from a wound in Mirko’s stomach. Quickly Martín took off his jacket and pressed it to the wound in order to stop the bleeding. “Mirko!” Martín came out of his feral state. “Say something please!” Mirko had regained his breath a bit and tried to say something, but all that came out was a hoarse whisper. “Are there any more people here?” Martín asked. Mirko shook his head. Martin put Mirko’s hands over the now bloody cloth. “Stay right where you are, I’ll go get the first aid kit.”</p>
<p>The back room was definitely ruined, even if you didn’t take the dead body into account. Mirko was laying on Martín’s bed as Martín carefully stitched up the wound in Mirko’s side. Gandía had given Mirko a mean knife stab in his side when they were fighting. After Martín had made sure Mirko was alright, they hadn’t really said anything. Martín cut of the thread of the final stich and put away the medical tools. They sat in silence for a bit, Mirko’s eyes tracing Martín’s face and Martín’s eyes staring into infinity. Martín inhaled. “<em>Lo siento</em>.” He finally looked Mirko in the eyes. “I am so very sorry.” He paused, trying to figure out what to say, but he couldn’t find the words. “Try to get some rest,” he finally stranded on. “I’ll… go clean up.” “Thank you,” Mirko said, but Martín shook his head. He opened his mouth to say something, closed it again, wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and went downstairs.</p>
<p>There was too much adrenaline in Mirko’s system to be able to sleep. Instead, he stared at the ceiling and listened to the sounds downstairs. He didn’t hear much, apart from a loud thump which could only be Gandía’s body being dumped somewhere. After a while, he heard footsteps come up. Martín quietly came into the bedroom and closed the door behind him. Although it was his own room, he didn’t seem to know how to position himself. Mirko patted the empty space on the bed next to him, as an invitation. Martín carefully laid down next to Mirko and sighed. “I’m so glad you’re still here,” he said in a soft voice, continuing his apology from before he’d left the room. “I don’t know what I would’ve done with myself if you…” All of the tension he’d held in the past few days finally came crashing down. Martín rolled onto his side, towards Mirko. “I’ve treated you like shit. You didn’t deserve any of that.” He sighed and staired at his hands. “Gandía ought to have shot me instead. That only would’ve been fair.” Mirko softly put his hand on Martín’s. And that was enough to finally break through one of Martín’s many walls. Tears started to well up in his eyes. “I don’t understand why you’re so kind to me, I’ve definitely done nothing to deserve it anyway. I’m sorry for what I said; I didn’t mean it, it’s, you know…” Mirko nodded. He understood. Martín moved closer to Mirko. “I just, I didn’t know how to accept your love. Or how to return it.”</p>
<p>Mirko still couldn’t identify the colour of Martín’s eyes when he looked into them, but what he could clearly see were all kinds of emotions. Pain, fear, but above all: honesty. Martín meant what he said. “I’m glad you’re still here too, Martín.” Tears started to flow down Mirko’s cheeks as well. “I’ve lost enough already; I’ll make sure I never lose you.” Both men were crying, but they were relieved. Mirko reached out, finally pulling Martín into the embrace he’d longed for. The tinier man relaxed in his arms. They both knew they had still so much emotional trauma to work through, but this was a beginning, a building of trust. In each other, Mirko and Martín had found something they’d both craved for so long. Love, in the form of books and bread.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you so much for sticking around all the way to the end! I think this is the longest story I've ever managed to finish, haha. I hope you enjoyed reading this fic, and if you have a reaction or a remark, please leave a comment :-)</p>
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